THAT WAS THE PIECE of the puzzle I needed. If Jenks had premeditated these crimes, mapped them out in some early book, it would constitute unimpeachable knowledge. No longer circumstantial. With everything else we had, I could definitely bring him in. "Where can I find this book?" I asked. "It wasn't very good," Joanna Wade replied. "Never published." Every nerve in my body was standing on end. "Do you have a copy?" "Trust me, if I did I would have burned it years ago. Nick had this agent in town, Greg Marks. He dumped him when he got successful. If anyone would have it, it might be him." I called Greg Marks from the car. I was really humming now. I loved this. The operator connected me and after four rings, an an277 swering tape came on: "You've reached Greg Marks Associates" I cringed with disappointment. Damn, damn, damn. Reluctantly, I left him my pager number. "A matter of great urgency," I said. I was about to tell him why I was calling when a voice cut in on the tape" This is Greg Marks." I explained I needed to see him immediately. His office wasn't too far; I could be there in ten minutes. "I have an engagement at One Market at six-fifteen," the agent replied curtly. "But if you can get here…" "You just stay right there," I told him. "This is police business and it's important. If you leave, I'll arrest you!" Greg Marks worked out of his brownstone, a third-floor loft in Pacific Heights with a partial view of the bridge. He answered the door with a suspicious reserve. He was short, balding, smartly dressed, a jacquard shirt buttoned to the top. "I'm afraid you haven't picked a popular topic with me, Inspector. Nicholas Jenks hasn't been a client for over six years. He left me the day Crossed Wire hit the Chronicle's bestseller list." "Are you still in touch?" I wanted to make sure anything I asked him wouldn't get back to Jenks. "Why? To remind him how I baby-sat him through the years when he could barely use a noun with an adjective, how I took his obsessed midnight calls, stroked that gigantic ego?" "I'm here about something Jenks wrote early on," I interrupted. "Before any big deals. I spoke to his ex-wife." "Joanna?" Marks exclaimed with surprise. "She said he had written a book that never got published. She thought it was called Always a Bridesmaid." The agent nodded. "It was an uneven first effort. No real narrative power. Truth is, I never even sent it out." "Do you have a copy?" "Packed it back to him as soon as I turned the final page. I would think Jenks must, though. He thought the book was a suspense masterpiece." "I was hoping I wouldn't have to go through him," I said, without conveying the basis of my interest. I leaned forward. "How do I get my hands on a copy of that novel, without going to Jenks directly?" "Joanna didn't save it?" Marks rubbed a finger across his temple. "Jenks was always paranoid about people ripping him off. Maybe he had it copyrighted. Why don't you check into that?" I needed to run this by someone. I needed to run it by the girls. "Do you want to hear something really scary about Jenks?" the agent said then. "Please, go ahead." "Here's the idea for a book he always wanted to write. It's about a novelist who is obsessed- the kind of thing Stephen King does so well. In order to write a better book, a great book, he actually murders people to see what it's like. Welcome to the horrible mind of Nicholas Jenks."

THIS WAS WHY I had become a homicide detective. I rushed back to the office, my head whirling with how to get my hands on this lost book, when the next bombshell hit. It was McBride. "Are you sitting?" he asked, as if he were about to deliver the coup de grace. "Nicholas Jenks was here in Cleveland. The night of the Hall of Fame murders. The son of a bitch was here." Jenks had lied right to my face. He hadn't even blinked. It was now clear; the unidentifiable man at the Hall of Fame had been him after all. He had no alibi. McBride explained how his men had scoured the local hotels. Finally, they uncovered that Jenks had been at the Westin, and amazingly, he had registered under his own name. A desk clerk working there that night remembered him. She knew it the minute she saw Jenks -she was a fan. My mind raced with the ramifications. This was all McBride needed. They had a prior relationship with the victim, a possible sighting at the scene. Now Jenks was placed in his town. He had even lied under questioning. "Tomorrow, I'm going to the district attorney for an indictment," McBride announced. "As soon as we have it, I want you to pick Nicholas Jenks up." The truth hit me like a sledgehammer. We could lose him to Cleveland. All the evidence, all those right hunches, wouldn't help us. Now we might only be able to tag on a concurrent life sentence at a second trial. The Brandts and the Weils, the De Georges and the Passeneaus would be crushed. Mercer would go ballistic. I was left with an absolutely demoralizing choice: Either pick Jenks up and hold him for McBride, or make our move now with less than an airtight case. I should run this up the ladder, the voice sounded in my head. But the voice in my heart said run it by the girls.

I GOT THEM TOGETHER on an hour's notice. "Cleveland's ready to indict," I told them. Then I dropped the bombshell about the book Always a Bridesmaid. "You've got to find it," Jill declared. "It's the one link we can tie in to all three crimes. Given that it was unpublished, it's as good as exclusive knowledge of the killings. It might even parallel the actual crimes. You find that book, Lindsay, we put Jenks behind bars. Forever!" "How? Joanna Wade mentioned a prior agent, and I went to see him. Noda. He said check out the office of copyrights. Where is that?" Cindy shook her head. "Washington, I think." "That'll take days, or more. We don't have days." I turned to Jill. "Maybe it's time for a search warrant. Blow in on Jenks. We need the gun and the book. And we need them now." "We do that," Jill said nervously, "we might bungle this whole investigation." "Anyone know about this yet?" she asked. I shook my head. "Just the first team- you guys. But when Mercer finds out, he'll want to jump in with everything he has. Cameras, microphones, the FBI waiting in the wings." "If we're wrong, Jenks'll sue our ass," Jill said. "I don't even want to think about it." "And Cleveland'll be waiting," said Claire. "Make us look like a bunch of fools." Finally, Jill sighed. "All right… I'm with you, Lindsay. If you can't think of another way." I looked at all three of them to make certain we were unanimous. Suddenly, Cindy burst in. "Can you give me another twenty-four hours?" I looked at her. "I don't know. Why?" "Just until tomorrow. And I need Jenks's Social Security number." I shook my head. "You heard what I said about McBride. Anyway, for what?" She had that same look as the other night, when she burst into my apartment- holding the photo of Jenks and Kathy Kogut, the third bride. "Just give me until tomorrow morning." Then she got up and left.